Ascendance
by BigBlueMonster
Summary: The world of politics is a dangerous game. Like chess, every move is consequential, directly altering the flow of the game. Follow House Dragneel as they maneuver through a world of deceit and deception, intent on carving out a place in the world for themselves. AU.
1. Prologue

**THE FALLEN KING**

* * *

The red-haired king tightened his grip on his blade, grimacing. Sweat stung his brown eyes, dripping down his dirty face. Screams of the dying and the thunder of clanging swords filled the corpse-strewn battlefield as King Draigg marches forward, striking down any Caledonian that stood in his way. Things were looking good.

Despite its backwardness, Caledona is a populous country, and could easily crush the kingdom of Ignis if given the time to mobilize its population. Draigg knows that he must defeat his enemies swiftly if he wishes to win. Having previously crushed a larger Caledonian army, Draigg had nonetheless failed to capture or kill the majority of the routed army. As his men marched in pursuit, his scouts managed to locate the defeated Caledonian army in one of the hundreds of fields of the fertile Caledonian kingdom.

The opposing Caledonian army was in tatters, demoralized after a crushing defeat. Despite an exhausting march, Draigg's men are in good spirits, ready for another victory. As the dense clouds cleared the sooty night sky, the battle commenced. The Caledonian archers launched a storm of arrows, obscuring the pale, yellow moon. Despite the rain of arrows, the Ignissian spearmen moved on, shoulder to shoulder, spears ready. Finally reaching the Caledonian army, the spearmen lobbed their spears, drew their swords, and charged. The mêlée begins.

Armor jingled, swords clinked, harnesses chinked, and the real battle began. Caledonian arrows fizzed and buzzed, hitting their intended targets.

Men are dying near Draigg. All around him was nothing but a whirlwind of disorder and violence, a blur of vicious motions. Draigg advances: slashing and stabbing as he moves, vanquishing his foes like a madman. He in inhuman, beast incarnate, ravaging the battlefield in front of him. An axeman blocks Draigg's path, stymieing his advance. Draigg makes a brutal downward chop, with more strength than skill. The swing cuts through the axeman's gambeson, drawing molten-red blood. He finished the man with a blow to the skull, instantly ending his life. One by one, assailants cautiously advance towards Draigg. One by one, they fall, slain by his mighty blade. Wyrmstooth, his blade, gleams in the pale moon light, glistening with the blood of Draigg's enemies.

Draigg inhales the metallic scent. He grins. Unlike his peers, Draigg reveled in the battlefield, finding euphoria in the slaughter of the battlefield. He relishes in the fear of his enemies and he relishes the despair in their faces when they face the savage dragon king. For Draigg, the battlefield promises solace and offers a place to vent his anger and release his stress. As he advances, his foes backpedal slowly, cautiously. He can see it. He can feel it. He can smell it. This battle is his.

Suddenly, a cloud of arrows blot the ebon sky. Without time to shield themselves, soldiers fell one by one, friend or foe. The barbed arrows simply bounced off the heavy armor of Draigg and his royal guard, but the damage was done. How dishonorable, thought Draigg. The weak-willed Caledonians are willing to sacrifice their own companions for a small advantage.

Draigg and his forces continue their advance, pummeling and pounding the Caledonian defenses under the sunless sky. A young man, possibly only in his sixteenth year, comes charging towards Draigg, sword ready. Draigg dodges the blow and hits his assailant with the pommel of his broadsword, incapacitating the swordsman. Men were screaming and crying, as the battlefield became slick with mercury blood. A young spearman manages to hit Draigg, bruising him. Draigg stabs his unprotected body, spilling his innards.

"Disgusting," Draigg muttered. The putrid smell sickens his sensitive sense of smell.

Within an hour of fighting, the Caledonian center falls apart, retreating in terror. Euphoric after another victory, Draigg orders pursuit. Draigg and his men give chase, after the retreating stragglers. The Ignissian warriors abandon formation and charge forward, slaughtering the survivors of the previous battle. But even so, hundreds of Caledonians managed to escape the massacre, fleeing the battlefield in a bout of great panic. The Ignissian lacked cavalry, making chase difficult. Nevertheless, Draigg and his men continue their pursuit.

 _AaAaaH-OOoOH!_

From the hills near his army's right flank, heavy cavalry charge the disorganized Ignissian army. Pandemonium descends upon Draigg's army. They are trapped.

"My lord, it is the Caledonian Royal Army! King Gerste is in command!"

"Gliessen, break out. Take as many men as possible. I will cover the retreat."

"But..."

"Remember Gliessen, no buts. As the ruler of Ignis, it is my duty to protect its people," chides Draigg.

Gliessen protests, "Ignis needs you! Your family needs you! We need you!"

"Do not worry for me, Gliessen. Ignis will continue to prosper without me. As for my family..." Draigg hesitates, "I must put my country before my family."

Gliessen does not respond. He looks at his lord one last time, before departing.  
"Those who wish to live, follow Gliessen. Those who wish to die an honorable death, follow me, " declared Draigg.

Thousands of infantrymen flock towards Gliessen, thanking the king for his generosity. But for every ten men that marches towards retreat, one stays behind for eternal martyrdom. Thankfully, the royal guard stays behind, for they swore to protect their lord with their lives. Draigg and his three thousand companions move into formation and prepare for their last stand.

The Caledonian army outnumbers the defenders thirty to one. However, the iron weapons of the Caledonian footmen could not effectively damage the steel-clad Ignissian royal guard. The Ignissian remnants fight for their lives, for their honor, and for their comrades. All around, people fell, innards spilled, and bodies bled.

The fighting continues, but exhaustion cripples the Ignissian forces. They have been fighting and marching for weeks, and the previous pursuit drained Draigg's men. Their opponents, the fully mobilized Caledonian army, are fresh and thirsting for victory. There was no doubt about who would win. The steel blades of the Ignissian infantrymen, dull from constant use, do little damage against the fresh Caledonian troops.

One by one, the infantrymen fall. Footmen who stray too far from the formation are surrounded and ripped apart. Barbed arrows pierce the chinks in the armor of the unlucky guardsman. Exhaustion takes even the strongest of Draigg's warriors. Even the peerless royal guards fall, butchered in an impossible fight. But despite the exhaustion, despite the slaughter, despite the futility, and despite the fatigue, they fight on.

By the time the sun rises, only Draigg remains, bathed in a pool of blood. Barely standing, crimson ichor oozes from his gaping wounds. He fights to remain conscious. Pain from a dozen wounds barely register, drowned out by the thoughts in Draigg's pained mind.

"Igneel... Atlas..." gurgled the king, "Daddy's here."

Draigg coughed, blood staining his bleeding lips. His right arm is numb, hanging uselessly by his side. He no longer has the strength to walk, much less wave a sword around. It took all his willpower to simply stand.

Around him were thousands of Caledonians, ready to tear Draigg apart.

A man, on his white stallion, approaches Draigg. He grins, amused.

"My, my, if it isn't the great Draigg Dragneel!" laughed Gerste of House Roggen, King of Caledonia.

"You look pitiful! I thought you were the one who vowed to raze Caledona to the ground!" grinned Gerste, "Any last words?"

"Kill... me... please..."

"And grant you a honorable death? Nay, we know you Ignissian scum regard that value highly. Oh, great fire king, I do mean no harm; I just want to see you suffer. "

Draigg did not hear his words. In his mind, he has already entered Valhalla. In front of him was an ebony haired woman, one he held dearly.

"Elmira, you're here, " whispered Draigg, "that means..."

She simply nods, smiling.

"But our sons, what about them? Gods, they are so young, how will they survive with no more parents?"

"My husband, they are strong. Believe in their strength, I beg of you." Elmira offers a hand, "Follow me. Valhalla welcomes the brave!"

Speechless, the fire king takes his wife's hand. Draigg, without strength, gives up on the world of the living. He resigns himself to fate.

Unconscious and bleeding out, Draigg leaves Caledona, leaves Alakitasia, leaves Earthland, and leaves this realm.

The remnants of Gerste's forces loot the undead, like the black birds that prey on the undead. The Caledonians vandalize the fire king's body, beheading the monarch. Bagging the grisly organ, Gerste leaves the Ignissian court a little gift.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

Some important words.

Draigg - father to Igneel and Atlas.

Caledona - a country in central Alakitasia. Due to its fertility, Caledona is the most populous country in the region. However, due to its central location, warfare is constant and reinforces the decentralization of power in the country. In contrast to Ignis (see below), the King is relatively weak politically, relying on the support of local barons and lords. Also in contrast to Ignis, Caledona has no concept of slavery, unless one considers serfdom slavery. The aristocratic families in Caledona often fight amongst themselves as well.

Ignis - country west of Caledona. Ignis comes from the name of its first ruler, Ignis Dragneel. Once a tiny and impoverished principality, warfare and reforms brought the country great prestige (and infamy). The country was founded by soldiers, and as a result, is deemed by many scholars to be "an army that happens to have a kingdom".

Gambeson - for you history buffs out there. A Gambeson is a cloth tunic often worn by medieval Knights underneath their armor, but poor footmen would just use it as a form of armor.

Gliessen - Head of the Ignissian royal guard and Draigg's lieutenant.

Gerste Roggen - Had a field day with this guy. Name literally means "Barley Rye" in German, in reference to his rule of Caledona, an agricultural nation. I tried to make him not that much of an ass, but I guess that kinda backfired.

Elmira - Draigg's wife. She is important, but is kinda dead.

Flank - literally just the left or right side of anything, such as a person or a group of people

 **Author's Notes Pt2**

In this AU, canonically no human is able to wield magic.

 **Thank you for reading. Comments are greatly apperciated!**


	2. Igneel I

Igneel blinked, then opened his dull eyes. Wide awake, he pushed himself out of bed with a frown on his visage. The chilly morning wind had swept through the young prince's room, disturbing his fitful sleep. Grumbling, Igneel slogged towards the glass window, deep in thought.

In front of the prince laid a city of stone, built by Igneel's long deceased ancestors. Difficult to locate and difficult to attack, the city of Perth was designed to resist an invasion. Built atop Mount Pern, the capital city loomed over the rolling hills of the countryside. Stone houses dotted Perth, mimicking the color of the foreboding wall built around it.

After closing the window, Igneel let out a sigh and grabbed his shirt. The morning was no different from any other, yet something did not feel quite right. Paradoxically, the prince could feel the empty void swelling within him. Something was amiss.

Suddenly, the doors creaked open. Out came a lonely maid. "Sir, the prime minister asks for you. Y-you need to come downstairs. "

"What does the geezer want this time?" Igneel scowled as he walked towards the terrified maid. "And what if I don't go?"

"Eep! I don't know, don't hurt me. " She said meekly, quickly exiting the room in the process. Intrigued, the young prince threw on a pair of breeches and followed the maid out of his room.

...

After navigating through the twists and turns of the castle corridors, the duo made it to their destination. A trio of tense ministers approached Igneel, beckoning him to come inside. As Igneel entered the meeting room, he was greeted with a cacophony of chatter, largely coming from a dozen or so bureaucrats.

The conversations died down with the motion of a wrinkled hand. "You may leave if you wish, Priscilla..." The prime minister, August, turned to face Igneel. "... so the boy awakens! Take a seat, Igneel."

With a quick nod, the maid that escorted Igneel left the room in a hurry. Frowning, the prince took an empty seat.

"Do you know why I sent you here?" asked August.

Igneel shrugged. He was only eight years old.

August sighed, then continued. "Of course you don't. Would you like to hear the good news or the bad news first?"

"There is never enough good news."

"Igneel, you are relieved from your princely duties, " said August cautiously, "you are our new king."

"W-what! Is this a coup against our king?" spoke a flabbergasted minister.

August shook his head.

"If not, then you must surely be joking," demanded another servant of the state.

"I do not jest. " answered August in a solemn voice. The king is dead."

Igneel paled. His father was the king of Ignis, a stretch of land located in western borders of the Alakitasian continent. A man undefeated in the battlefield, how could his father have died? Cries of disbelief filled the room, confusion present in the faces of the men in the room.

"Gliessen, king Draigg's retainer, has returned to Perth with the news." said August.

"The coward! What kind of a retainer abandons his king?" mocked a minister, his peers quickly followed suit with nodding heads. "Why should we accept the words of a deserter?"

August did not respond immediately. After a pause, he opened his mouth. "He has already been detained, but Gliessen did not lie. The Caledonians left us a gift. "

With that, the old statesman pulled out the severed head. Igneel could not hold the rage back any longer. He smashed his clenched fists into the wooden table, mouth twisted into a snarl. But he could not find the words he wanted.

...

The sky was a shade of cerulean, yet the quiet wind felt harsh as it blew against Igneel's face. Everything seemed to hurt so much more today. According to August, the Caledonian king refused to hand over the rest of Draigg's mutilated body. It seemed that the Caledonians wished to deny his father happiness, even in death.

Dressed in a coal-colored suit with matching breeches, Igneel followed the huddle of men and women. Dressed in a coal-colored suit, Igneel followed the huddle of men and women. His father's funeral seemed to be mostly a private affair, in contrast to his father's popularity at home.

Igneel spotted a few distant relatives, none of whom he was particularly close to. However, his younger brother had failed to show up. Refusing to eat or bathe, the younger Dragneel barricaded himself in his room.

A lone priest, dressed in crimson, stepped forward. Armed with an ankh, he gave Draigg his last prayers.

"Oh Great Spirit, Father of us all, we ask for your blessings on this ceremony of giving, and honoring of Draigg. We stand at a pathway now. "

"A path that each of us must walk through at some point in our lives. Draigg has begun his path already."

And with that, the crowd dispersed. The funeral was over, for them at least. For Igneel was still in mourning. Igneel wanted to cry, but his eyes could not shed any tears. He missed his father's sparring lessons. He missed his father's daily cry of "Good Morning". Most of all, he missed his father's shit-eating grin. Now, he would never see him again.


	3. Igneel II

It had already been a week since the funeral, yet Igneel still could not find the right description for the whirlwind of emotions that filled his psyche. So naturally, the boy looked for an outlet to vent his growing frustration and confusion.

The red-haired youth marched through the hallways of the citadel, heading for the outside. After grabbing a wooden sword, Igneel eyes the dusty exterior, intent on finding a partner to spar with. The castle guard froze momentarily as the prince approached, fearing a repeat of the scenario from the day before. Nobody wanted to break any bones.

Noticing the subtle 'no' aimed at him, Igneel instead heads off towards the practice dummies. After finding a suitable straw man, Igneel tightens his and lifts the sword. Immediately, he brings the blade down with all his might.

THWACK!

The rain of blows continued, each louder than the last. The constant thud echoed out of the courtyard alerting the castle inhabitants. Today wasn't the first of Igneel's sessions. The young prince's wrath had been noticeable, and the castle staff avoided him at all cost.

He swung at the dummy with all his might, intent on killing the inanimate object with his wooden blade. The dummy was certainly taking a beating, but it was the birch blade that broke from Igneel's brash assault.

SNAP!

"Damn, that's the third one this week," Igneel grumbled, tossing the broken blade aside.

The castle staff quickly scampered off, familiar with the young prince's "sessions". As Igneel bent down to pick the other half of his wooden blade, a chuckle disturbed the preexisting silence.

" Don't worry about it, Igneel. There is no one willing to punish you."

Igneel turned to face August, glaring. August smiled back. As a prime minister, August served as the chief administrator of the kingdom, responsible for the organization and centralization of the Ignissian bureaucracy. After the death of Igneel's father, August took charge of the kingdom, for the ruler was too young to rule a warring nation.

"Your father would have been upset with your current behavior, " said August gently, "I advise you to act in a more princely manner."

"Don't bring my father into this," Igneel hissed, "I don't want to talk about him."

August ignored the boy and continued, " Draigg was a good man, but his poor judgment doomed him. "

"Father did nothing wrong. He was doing his duty as a king, fighting for his people." countered Igneel.

August shook his head in disbelief, "Draigg's arrogance cost him his life. Your father underestimated his opponents and overestimated himself. "

"There is nothing weak about my father, he would have crushed his enemies in any fair fight."

"Igneel, strength is meaningless wisdom," said August, "The strong rule the weak, but it is the wise rule the strong."

With no counterargument available to the young prince, Igneel stormed off, fuming. In an effort to quell his anger, the young Dragneel headed off towards the kitchens in pursuit of a savory meal. As the flame-haired boy moved through the hallways, servants and maids fled his path. However, an orange-haired serving boy failed to notice him, knocking into the prince. Igneel didn't even flinch. The others quickly grabbed the dazed boy, and Igneel reoriented himself.

The frown on his face transformed into a grin as Igneel barged into the royal kitchens, announcing his presence with a whoop of joy. The various cooks merely grumbled something along the lines of "glutton".

"Time for a snack! " he gleefully thought. When things fall apart for Igneel, food certainly helped his mood. Although in his case, food meant the entire pantry.

...

After an hour of non-stop eating and drinking, Igneel quietly slipped away, deciding to skip his afternoon lessons. Today was history, and Igneel was in no mood to read about dead people. Igneel far preferred more applicable skills, such as sword fighting, and well, nothing else really. A book wouldn't save him in a fight, anyway.

Igneel found a secluded spot near a great oak tree branching out towards the sky. Sighing, he laid down and ran a hand through the twisted forest know as his hair. He sighed again. Practicing swordplay had certainly helped cool his nerves, but the conversation with August resurrected the tumultuous sensation of confusion. A good meal certainly helped, but even that was not enough to curb his current emotional state.

Despite his inner turmoil, Igneel's psyche wandered into the convoluted mess known as geopolitics. Ugh, listening to August's lectures was a mistake. Unlike its neighboring kingdoms and duchies, the nation of Ignis was built upon the shoulders of soldiers. Instead of relying on the manorial system for organization, the centralized Ignissian bureaucracy took over all matters of a daily like, coordinating the Ignissian society.

Although considered to be crude and warlike by foreigners, many Ignissians took that as a compliment. Ignissians greatly valued individual strength, a trait that Igneel seemed to exemplify. Despite being skilled, he was never a popular youth. Igneel was certain of it. Even now, he can feel it. It being the burning gaze of jealousy.

As Igneel faced the azure sky, he vocalized his thoughts. "Green-eyed bastards, " he said angrily, "I wasn't born strong."

No one, besides his family (and maybe August), acknowledged the work that Igneel put in his technique. No one acknowledged the torturous sparring sessions with his father. His peers treated it as some sort of natural talent, something he was innately born with. They feared him. Other children avoided him, and now, even adults.

Blinking, before closing his eyes, Igneel's thoughts quickly drifted away like the fleeting Ignissian summer. Gradually, sleep overtook him.

...

 _Merrily skipping through the halls, a younger Igneel moved towards his mother's bedroom. He was going to be a big brother!_

 _The little prince stopped, however. What he saw and heard chilled the blood rushing through his veins. A painful scream tore through the hallway. Like the workers in a nest of ants, servants and maids rushed into and out of the numerous corridors, frantically grabbing sheets, cloth, and medical supplies. Pandemonium would be the correct word to describe the situation._

 _Easily slipping through the chaos, the four year old prince crawled towards his mother's room, ready to barge through the thick oaken doors. He heard the cries of pain. Louder this time, definitely from his mother's room. As the flicker of hope started to die, Igneel pushed the doors open. His heart stopped, if only for a moment. In this situation, hell would be a better word than pandemonium._

 _His mother's scream resonated throughout the obsidian sky, waking the songbirds from slumber. Surgeons and doctors scampered like cornered mice ,armed with mortifying blades and saws. His father was on his knees, praying. The floor was littered with bandages, wet with his mother's blood. The maids were panicking, spilling water and dropping medical supplies. No one noticed nor cared for Igneel's presence. All the adults were panicking. But the look on his father's face broke Igneel's fragile heart._

 _"I'm going to die aren't I?" whispered the woman in the bed. Tears of pain welled up in her ruby eyes, her chest heaving with exhaustion._

 _His father rubbed his eyes, crying out, "NO! Gods no! Elmira please don't. I can't live on without you. They can't live without you."_

 _"I don't want to leave you either, but the pain, I can't bear it. "_

 _Igneel looked around in horror. This must be a bad dream. Yes, this must be a nightmare. He must have fallen asleep after his after-supper snack. This wasn't happening. This wasn't real._

 _But it felt real. It sounded real. It looked real. It smelled real. The cold sweat bounded Igneel's nightclothes to his skin. His mother's cries muted out the voices of her servants. A pool of deep crimson blotted his mother's abdominal area. Surgeons armed with red blades crowded around his mother as she wailed like a banshee. A sharp metallic scent clung to Igneel's nose. The room reeked of death._

 _Igneel wanted to look away, but he couldn't. The stench brought him back to reality. This could not be happening. As he gazed at his mother, her raven hair shimmered in the pale moon light. She mouthed out her last words, and closed her eyes._

 _He rushed to his mother's side, pushing away anyone who blocked his path. Grabbing at his mother with his tiny hands, Igneel cried out in pain._

 _"Mother. Mother? Mother! Wake up, please wake up! Stop it, this isn't funny! Mother! Why won't you answer me!"_

 _With a look of horror, Igneel's father expressed his shock, "What are you doing? Why are you here, Igneel? You shouldn't be here! Don't smother her, Igneel you might hurt her!"_

 _"Igneel, Draigg, listen to me," said August morosely, "She's dead. Elmira is gone. She isn't coming back."_

 _"She can't be dead, " Draigg cried hoarsely, "She was so young and healthy."_

 _"Yeah, Dad's right. Mom is still warm. "_

 _But Igneel knew. His father definitely knew. They were banking on false hope. Mom will never come back again._

 _"Draigg," August couldn't finish his sentence. The newborn baby interrupted the silence with a piercing shriek._

 _With a sigh of defeat, his father grabbed the child. Igneel faced his mother again. Try all he could, but Igneel could not stem the tide of tears. He knew he would never see her again._

 _"Hey! Wake up!" cried an unfamiliar voice. Igneel turned to see if any of the servants noticed noise, but they only moved on with their lives. Only him, huh._

 _"Oi! Sleeping Beauty, it's time to wake up!"_

 _The voice came from his mother, but she made no movement. Suddenly, a light basked the room, shrouding Igneel in a cloak of light._

...

Igneel awoke with a jolt, hitting something hard, like a brick. Rubbing his bruised forehead, Igneel opened his eyes and looked up. Nothing. Puzzled, Igneel looked around and quickly spotted the culprit of the heinous crime. Sprawled on the ground was a castle servant, no older than ten.

"That hurt, " grumbled Igneel, "Why'd you wake me up? It's not even dark yet. "

"At least apologize! That hurt me too!" replied the orange-haired brat, "That's the second time you knocked me to the ground today!"

"Huh?"


End file.
